


Implicit

by gondalsqueen



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Foreplay, Friendship/Love, Innuendo, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sabacc, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-06 04:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gondalsqueen/pseuds/gondalsqueen
Summary: "Kanan is a self-styled flirt—lead with the body, and they often won’t ask you for anything else. But he flirts for fun, and making Hera angry or defensive is not fun. (More and more, he aims for a smile.)"This started as "five things that aren't sex." Except by the end...some of them were just sex.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this long, long ago, in the hiatus between seasons 1 and 2 of Rebels, found it last night, pulled out the seams, and added some new stuff. The original is probably on tumblr somewhere, but if I don't remember it, I doubt you do, either!

1) Massage

The first time he sees her roll her head around to stretch her neck, he has been on the Ghost for three weeks. She’s been flying through a junk field for the last four hours of that time.

“You know, I could help with that,” he offers. “I give a mean massage."

She shoots him a look out of the corner of one eye, the viewport and sensors commanding most of her attention. “I don’t think so.”

“Come on. I won’t try anything. That way you could keep both hands on the sticks.”

Another shake of her head. “I don’t like massages. I’ll be fine after I sleep.”

And that’s the end of it. He learns quickly that Hera will banter to his heart’s content. If he says too much and oversteps the line, she simply gives him that look, the one that means “No, dear,” where “dear” is more patronizing than affectionate. But any unnecessary touching will not be regarded as playful. He learns so quickly that she never has to shut him down. Kanan is a self-styled flirt—lead with the body, and they often won’t ask you for anything else. But he flirts for fun, and making Hera angry or defensive is not fun. (More and more, he aims for a smile.)

So he doesn’t offer to help with stiff muscles again for months, and when he does he’s not seeking an opportunity to touch her. In that interim he’s sat next to her, watching her squirm in her seat, and it irks him to do nothing when he knows he can help. “Hera. You keep flying, I’m going to try to fix your back. Think of it as repair to one of the Ghost’s vital systems.”

She shakes her head, tone warning. “It’s not going to help.”

“Just let me try, okay? This is not… I’ve got skills in this area.” 

Again that skeptical raised eyebrow. “Is this Kanan Jarrus Jedi, or Kanan Jarrus lady's man?” 

“Jedi,” he assures her, telling himself that the word is just a little white lie to keep it from sticking in his throat. 

A blinking light on the console—potential salvage—conveniently calls her attention. Adjusting their course gives her a moment to consider. “All right. Show me what you’ve got.” 

“Yes, ma’am, Captain.” He gathers the remnants of his training, those exercises from nursery days, running a hand over bumps and bruises to soothe. He can feel the Force warming the tips of his fingers, he can feel the muscles in her neck like a steel frame. She’s thin, and lekku can’t be light. There is nothing sexual in his touch.

Anyone listening to her groans of pleasure would be hard pressed to believe that. 

...

2) Sixth gear

“Come on, Hera, there is no sixth gear! That’s a myth.”

“Technically, no. There is no sixth gear. But most transports have overdrive.”

“New ones. Not an old hoverbus.”

“Even the old ones! But they come with a built-in governor. In those days you’d burn out the engine if you weren’t careful. You have to get around the safeties to hit overdrive.” 

“Hot wiring?” 

She considers, chews a bite of cereal, swallows. “No. Just talking sweet to it.”

He sits back, crossing his arms, crossing his ankles, tipping the chair off the front of its swivel. From toes to head, he spans the width of the galley. “Oh yeah? How?”

A tap to his elbow with her spoon. “Listen then, skeptic. You can’t push it too hard. The engine can’t feel like it’s working. You’ve got to ease it all the way to the top of fifth gear…” she demonstrates with her toe on an imaginary pedal, “…then just  _ tip _ it over. Then you’re in overdrive.”

“And that’s how you got Okadiah’s old bus to fly.”

She nods.

“All right, Captain Smug. You’re sure this isn’t a metaphor for something else?”

She grins.

...

3) Sleeping

This can go a few ways:

Eyes snapping open from a nightmare (she calls them “bad dreams” like she’s a child). Not waking her. He doesn’t need her to do anything; he just needs her to be there.

The time he rolled right off of her top bunk and she grabbed him the moment before he fell and they both ended up on the floor. He is caught between the remnants of nightmare (BAD dream) and laughter, because nobody is really hurt. She meets his eyes and makes him choose laughter.

Lying face-up with a stuffed nose, courtesy of checking on their cargo (“Mushroom spores are a delicacy on the Core Worlds”). Waking to her fingers on his face, uncharitably stopping his mouth. “Are you trying to smother me?”

“You wouldn’t stop snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Shh.” Her tone is gentle, but she clamps her fingers down. He draws one into his mouth, a hundred tiny nerves swirled on his tongue. They’ve probably gotten enough sleep for now.

Nights after a mission gone wrong (horribly wrong, my fault, can never take it back), when they think there will be more than just sleeping, but that goes wrong too. Rather than ending tangled together, they turn away. He faces the door, she faces the wall. Each nurses a private pain, alone. They fight separate battles but sleep with their backs touching, protecting the other from a sneak attack.

…

  
4) Recreation

At some point, they discover that they’re both pretty good at shockball, and this gives them something new to do on those long and boring hyperspace jags. They place a ring at each end of the hold and play like children, the palm-sized ball bouncing crazily off the bulkhead whenever either makes a long throw. Mostly they play with the shocks turned off because, as Hera puts it to Kanan, "You are not as young as you used to be." The day she says that, he plays for revenge. 

Okay “revenge” is a little extreme. Shockball is a hands-on sport, and he’s a lot larger than Hera. Unless he holds back, they can’t really play. Today he refuses to slow down when he approaches her, or he holds the ball straight over his head, out of her reach, or he blocks her with the solid wall of his body.

After she slows for the tenth time to avoid slamming into him, she calls him on it. “You outweigh me by at least 23 kilos! That is not fair!” 

Kanan shrugs, unapologetic. “That’s shockball.” 

Hera frowns at him, the stubborn look that means nothing good is about to happen. “Okay. Fine.” 

After that, the gloves are off. Literally. She scratches him getting the ball (he’s pretty sure it’s an accident) and scores a goal. On her next attempt, though, she cracks her hand against his shoulder. “Ow!” 

“Do you want to stop?” he asks. 

“Not until I win.” 

“Hera, I don’t want you to hurt your hand. And I don’t think we have that kind of time.” 

If he wasn’t going to pay for this game before, he is now.

Shortly thereafter, she bounces clear off of him and hits the floor. Kanan offers his hand without seeming particularly concerned. To be fair, she’s not hurt, and he can probably sense that, but… 

She grabs his hand and pulls as hard as she can, sending him staggering. “No time-outs!” she calls, scooping up the ball in one smooth leap, springing for his goal. She puts the ball through easily, then grabs it and does it again, tying the score.

“Hey!” Kanan protests, catching up. “That’s called cheating!” 

Hera pats his cheek, patronizing, “That’s shockball, dear.” 

“Oh, yeah?” He grabs her around the middle,  hefts her over his shoulder, and heads back across the hold.

“Kanan! What are you doing?” 

“Throwing you through my hoop. Hold onto that ball, I’m going to score.” 

“No! No!” But she’s laughing while she’s kicking. “I will absolutely take you with me! Put me down! There are better ways to score.” 

He tries not to laugh. She’s going to murder him for teasing her like this, after all. “I can think of a better way to score, but you said you wanted to play shockball.” 

...

5) Injury

They are so calm, so separate, in front of the kids. “Are you all right?” “Yeah, just singed.”  _ You stay in your space, I’ll stay in mine. Because I’m pretty sure your leg is burned, and if I let myself touch you, I might start doing things that will embarrass us both. Like tearing your clothes off. Or crying. _

Later, after a close mission—especially after an injury—they are not at all separate. It’s less a celebration than a selfish grabbing back from death, clutching the other one and saying “Mine.”

They always try, but sometimes the physical injuries make it impossible. Bodies already sliding against each other, Kanan cups her chin to tip her head back, kissing towards her mouth. Hera yelps. “Sorry—no. My neck.” 

“Right. Sorry about that.” 

Or he braces himself over her and she wraps her legs around his hips and his shoulder flexes just so, to rip the thin new layer of synthflesh, and it’s over. “Oh, Kanan… Hold still.” Hera’s expression is guilty and full of sympathy as she runs for a towel and presses it tight against his shoulder. Kanan continues to tease her as she slows down the bleeding, but now she’s worried and it doesn’t work so well.

Or, makeshift bandaged with the towel and some tape, certain that they can do this,  _ yes love yes now _ , he pushes her back, above him—she’s ready, his hand on her abdomen none too gentle—and she pries his hand off. “Ow, ow, ow, ow!” 

“Are you all right? I thought—”

“Yes, it’s not that.” Her skin is dark in the lamplight, and only now does he notice the bruising across one hip and much of her stomach. 

After enough failed attempts, she collapses heavily on his outstretched arm—and that hurts too—lying beside him, both staring at the ceiling. Then she starts to laugh. “Not tonight I guess, huh?” And Kanan is laughing too. 

“Love, we are  _ old _ .”

He runs a hand up his face and pushes back his hair, grinning. Being old with Hera makes him happy. But she’s not really old, and she sits up with that mischievous grin reserved almost entirely for these situations. “You know, I think we can still manage something…” And she’s moving down his body and suddenly he feels much, much better. 


	2. Bonus content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand here's a little chapter that I couldn't fit into the actual story. It is not high art, but it is kind of delightful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much [ ShannonPhillips's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonPhillips/works) fault for recommending certain old movies.

Hera’s voice rings out over the din of the casino, pitched higher and faster than her normal speech but still recognizable. She’s laughing, of course. “No, no, sabacc!” she says, Ryloth accent rolling off of every syllable. “Everyone plays sabacc in the vids!” His drink is almost gone. It’s about time she showed up.

The Wookiee sitting next to him rumbles in protest—are they going to play the game, or not? Across the table from Kanan the only other human of their group, a large, gray-haired man sweating through his very expensive suit, looks back at his cards. Baron Brei Geyza, their target for tonight, almost certainly carrying the Imperial data chip he received earlier in the evening in addition to an obscene number of sabacc chips. Good, she’s gotten herself noticed already. That’s his girl.

Then the host escorts her their way, Hera floating imperiously in front of him in something red and low-cut, bejewelled handbag dangling from her wrist. “Yes, this will do nicely,” she says, halting at the empty seat next to Geyza. “Be a dear,” she tells him, and the baron obligingly jumps up and pulls out her chair. Oh, yeah. This is going to be a cake walk.

The thing is, Hera’s usually kind of a lazy actress. She plays servants or prostitutes on a semi-regular basis to avoid getting caught where she shouldn’t be, and she never really bothers to modulate her tone. Kanan is consistently shocked when nobody gives her a second look. But inject a dose of haughtiness into the role and she throws herself into it with an enthusiasm that always leaves him laughing behind his hand. He leans back, playing the drifter he’s supposed to be, bringing his cards up to cover his mouth.

“I HAVE played before at university,” she’s chattering, monopolizing the table’s conversation. “But not at a casino. But it’s my twenty-first birthday, so of course I had to come tonight!” 

“Lucky twenty-one? You are indeed a winning hand,” Geyza flirts. Kanan stifles a snort, and Hera shoots him a significant look across the table, one lek shifting just a little in irritation. What? The man’s a pretentious asshole.

Real Hera sinks back under the act she’s putting on as she turns to the baron. “I’ll lose all evening,” she says brightly, “but at least you will be helping me spend Papa’s money which, believe me, he _ greatly _ deserves to be parted from.”

The dealer passes her cards across the table and the game commences.

Hera takes the first pot, squealing at her luck, then loses the next three. Kanan wins their money back slowly enough that it doesn’t look suspicious and tries not to appreciate Hera’s dress too visibly. Geyza takes a pot here and there, then Hera wins another, laying her hand out just after the cards shift. “Twenty-two, all in sabers!” she crows. “I just love sabers. I used to know this man with the most delightful—well.” She stops.

Kanan looks up sharply and meets her eyes. Is she...flirting with him? 

Slowly, without changing her expression in the slightest, she winks. Oh, it’s going to be THAT kind of night.

Meanwhile, she’s put her hand over Geyza’s, as if by impulse, then tapped her finger against the table, activating the micro-scanner hidden in her ring. It’s her job to FIND the chip while he remains inconspicuous.

Geyza goes pink. The Wookiee shakes his head in disgust and cashes out to find a table with less drama. A moment later, Hera observes, “I’ll need to buy more chips, soon.” She reaches for her hip, then stops. “Oh, I just hate dresses without front pockets.” Meanwhile, her left lek twitches. Left front pocket, then. It’s his job to GET the chip while she draws everyone’s attention.

Then they’re off playing another hand. Geyza puts a card into the interference field. “What did you save?” Hera asks him sweetly.

“Oh, I never tell.”

She pouts. “I’ll tell you mine.” Then she slips a card into the field, looks right at Kanan, and says, “I’m going for sabers all night long.”

He almost laughs. Instead, he slides his own card forward to the middle of the table. “Endurance,” he offers.

“Do you think he’s telling the truth about his card?” she asks Geyza.

“Oh, well, I really don’t think this technique—”

Hera plays another. “The Universe,” she says.

“Are you familiar with the old meanings of the cards?” Geyza asks in a desperate effort to regain her attention. “They say whoever plays the Universe can have whatever she desires.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Hera purrs.

Geyza swallows. Kanan pushes another card forward and pronounces its title slowly. “Queen. Of Air. And Darkness.”

The baron is frowning at his hand. Hera smiles at Kanan. “Time is up,” the dealer announces, and Geyza takes the pot.

“Well, I need more chips,” Hera says. “And another drink.” She stands, trips awkwardly over her train, and spills her cards to the floor. “Oh! Oh, no, these STUPID heels, and now you’ve seen—”

Geyza leaps up to help her, and so does Kanan. “It’s quite all right,” the baron says, “We’ll deal you a new hand. Nobody would dream of cheating you here.”

Kanan picks his pocket deftly then slips the chip to Hera moments later. She loses a bit more money and leaves. When Geyza stands to follow her, Kanan becomes very interested in asking about his business endeavors, giving her time to make a clean getaway.

Kanan catches up to Hera just outside of the Ghost. “Well, that was quite a performance. Going for the Galaxy Award?”

She just grins at him.

“Where’d you put the chip, Captain ‘Oh no, I don’t have any pockets?’ Not in the handbag.”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

He holds her at arm’s length, sizing up the tight red silky thing she’s wearing, which really, really does not leave room for storage. “If you want me to find out, I most definitely can.”

She gives him a mock-serious look. “You might have to frisk me.” 


End file.
